


A Secret Gate, Book 2: Hidden Paths

by NovusArs



Series: A Secret Gate [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU/Alternate Universe, After the Hobbit Story, F/M, Female Bilbo, Gen, Hobbits are their own race, M/M, Mentions of Character Death, Rule 63, What Cannon, hobbits with powers, m/m is likely just touched on, politics but maybe not much
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-15 03:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5769622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovusArs/pseuds/NovusArs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Book two of the A Secret Gate series, beginning approximately 4 months after the conclusion of the Battle of Erebor.</p>
<p>Read book 1 first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stubborn as Stone

Chapter One: Stubborn as Stone

  


Dwarves are a bearded people with physical builds that speak of their mountain origins. Crafted from rock and stone, they are sturdy and stubborn folk. They are crafters and warriors, miners and blacksmiths, merchants and poets.

 

But above all else, they are a race that endures.

 

Since the moment Aule crafted his people, they have been given a harsh life. Iluvatar order their destruction but Aule pled for their survival and they became the adopted children of Iluvatar - unplanned and, many believe, unwanted. The song that made up the world was changed to allow their existence but that existence has been filled with strife and want.

 

Nearly every ancestral home has been claimed by the darkness of the world. The Firstborn, elves, fell into century old conflict with them. Whole clans have been wiped out as they struggled to find a place in the world. The lose of any one mountain hall has led to more death than any one race should have to endure.

 

When the great fire-breathing drake, Smaug, came from the north and lay claim to Erebor, many of the Longbeards were left with no home. The other dwarven houses had little room to offer the stranded Durin’s folk. The clans of Erebor were forced to wander in poverty for years within Dunland.

 

Eventually, after working for pennies amongst Men and years of war with orcs residing within the Misty Mountains, the Longbeards turn west. Their heir and prince guided them to Ered Luin.

 

And, as the ravens tell it, the Durin’s folk of Erebor have stayed in the Grey Mountains tolling for scraps since. Their prince guided them into building a simple hall within the depleted and dusty mountains. Children slowly appeared amongst their people once more and the dwarven clans became settled, though not happily wealthy beyond imagination nor living with plenty.

 

That is until a chance meeting between the grey pilgrim and Durin’s heir occurred. After that chance meeting, and with the prompting of said wizard, the prince was convinced to take up a quest. Thorin Oakenshield brought together a company of thirteen loyal dwarrow to travel to Erebor and steal away the Arkenstone with the help of said wizard and his chosen burglar.

 

That burglar ended up being a hobbit. Weak and small in appearance, Bilbo Baggins aided the dwarven company survive troll, warg, and elf alike as they traveled the old path to Erebor. And, through the blessing of Aule, Smaug was vanquished by the very mountain itself.

 

The hobbit burglar found the Arkenstone but before he could offer it up to the rightful king, the true colors of the wizard came to light as he stole both hobbit and stone from the safe haven of Erebor and handed them over to an invading elven army that had come to lay claim to the mountain’s treasures.

 

Battle broke out between elf and dwarf, Dain Ironfoot of the Iron Hills joined in battle to aid his cousins. But all was for not as an army of orcs swept through the field and claimed the Lonely Mountain. The mountain shook in despair but none of the dwarven army could stop the orcs as elves continued to attack them and force them into retreat.

 

Erebor was lost to darkness once more. The small port town of Esgaroth was left to waste. The elves of Mirkwood fled back to their forest kingdom. But the Durin’s heir survived to return once more and reclaim his gold. Thorin Oakenshield and his company of dwarves fled with Dain Ironfoot to the Iron Hills. And it is there that they still stay, planning to lay waste to the orcs who dare take another of their ancestral homes.

 

At least, as the ravens tell it…

 

What can be said for certain, is that one part of that tale is true. What was left of the company of Thorin Oakenshield left east to the Iron Hills. It is there, in the depth of the deep gray rock, within the healing halls of their cousins, the line of Durin lay.

 

Fili, one of Thorin Oakenshield’s sister’s sons and heir, spent the entirety of winter stuck in bed. He survived the battle wounded but whole, having broken most of his ribs and somehow avoided being hit in any vital areas by no less than five arrows - more than one being elvish in design. A fever took to him during his recovery and recently healed ribs re-broke as he had attempted to cough up a lung (according to Oin, the company’s healer).

 

The prince has had the pleasure of his brother’s company all winter long. Only his brother’s company. Everyone else was too busy or had their own rooms to be locked in bed in.

 

He could have done with less of Kili’s company. They weren’t little children finding comfort from each other’s presence. A simple confirmation that he was alive and recovering would have worked just as well. (That wasn’t true but after being locked up together for so long it was as good as true.)

 

Fili sighed as he shifted in bed, pleased when no pain stabbed across his chest. He was healed, had been for a time now, and yet he was stuck in bed. The prince glanced over at his brother. Kili appeared to be asleep. So Fili pulled out a leather thong from under his shirt.

 

Light glinted off silver, highlighting the careful carvings. The runes for unity, for One, and his family’s mark gleamed in the torch light. He had even included flowers, geometric in shape but flowers none the less.

 

“You’ll braid it into her hair.”

 

Fili didn’t bother to glance up. He’d recognize his brother anywhere (not that he’d been anywhere but here, stuck in bed across the room similar to his own predicament). His statement was old hat by now, anyway. There was only so many things to talk about while they had been stuck in the healing halls.

 

Fili dropped his hand over his chest. His ribs were healed. There was no stabbing pain and yet, until recently, there had been this phantom pain radiating out from his chest and head. Fili couldn’t explain it, didn’t really want to even try, but the pain wasn’t his (he wasn’t even in pain when feeling it, so very strange). He knew it was Llorabell’s. He knew she was alive and that she was in the west. Where in the west was the question.

 

The dwarf prince fisted the silver bead and turned from where his thoughts were straying. _Again_.

 

“We’ll find the Little Bunny and I’ll tie her up so you can finally braid that into her hair properly.” Kili stated cheerfully from across the hall.

 

Fili couldn’t stop the flicker of a grin at that name. He stamped it down as he said with as sharp a tone as he could, “Give it a rest.”

 

“Gah, you’re as walnut-headed as ever.”

 

The blond flushed as the insult reminded him of the first time he had been called that. Llorabell had tried to beat the insult into him as she had exclaimed over their stupidity with the dragon. His frown returned at the thought. He couldn’t remember ever getting a chance to complain about her own foolishness.

 

A pillow smacked him in the head. Fili grabbed it and threw it back at his brother. Kili caught it with a grin. His blanket slide off the bed as the younger dwarf dodged the pillow at the same time as catching it. Bandages wrapped around Kili’s leg reminded Fili of the battle once more. At least the bruising that had covered his brother’s face from a broken nose had faded to nothing.

 

The dwarf rubbed his chest as memories forced themselves forward. His heart sped up as he thought of the battle. The carnegie, blood, death...the chaos...it had been terrifying but he had been trained his entire life to handle some level of the horror of a battlefield. Nothing could have prepared him for the terror that gripped him at seeing Llorabell being attacked by Bolg.

 

Fili now understood his uncle’s hatred for Thranduil. The elf king had tossed his wife to an orc, had just handed her over without thought or care. His fingers dug into his shirt as the memory filled his mind. He recalled pain that wasn’t his stab through his chest when she had been smacked with the mace, the sudden gut wrenching terror as Bolg moved to kill her, and the relief when Bifur saved her. He hadn’t been able to get there in time but someone had been.

 

Self disgust flickered in the back of his mind as he recalled his relief. Bifur had saved her with his life. He shouldn’t feel so relieved and yet no matter how many times those moments replayed in his mind, he couldn’t stop that feeling.

 

He would forever be indebt to the Ur clan. He would never be able to repay the clan for their head’s actions.

 

A bitter smile flicker across his face. Life was funny sometimes. It was just his luck that it was that moment he realized what Llorabell was. (But that wasn’t quite right. It was really the moment he let himself consider it.) He still hadn’t said it out loud to anyone. It didn’t feel right saying it to anyone but Llor. Fili flopped his head back against the wall behind him.

 

Llorabell Baggins of Bag End and the Shire, Uslukh’omrid, buhâ'oDurinur und Erebor was his One.

 

By Hobbit tradition she was already his wife.

 

And she was somewhere in the west, far, far away from here.

 

The same dull grey pillow smacked his face. The blond glared up at his unrelenting brother. The brunette glared back.

 

“Stop acting like uncle. Stop looking like him,” said Kili slowly and deliberately. “Just stop.”

 

“Laddie’s got a point,” Added Balin as the older dwarf stepped into the room. “Brooding always brought out the family resemblance.”

 

Fili switched his glare to the acting advisor of the company. Balin smiled in amusement, one of his gloved hands moved up to pull through his snow white beard. The prince’s glare faded as Balin’s hand dropped from the unconscious action.

 

The older dwarf’s beard had been partly pulled out during the battle. The rest had been chopped in half when an orc had tried to slice Balin open across his gut. The scholar had a new scar to prove it, even.

 

At least that’s what Dwalin had claimed after Fili had first seen Balin with his uneven and much shorter beard. They all had been far luckier than seemed possible.

 

Dwalin had a few new scars, nothing major. Gloin had had a goblin tear a chunk out of one of his ears. Bombur’s beard had been cut in half and he had lost a pinky. Bofur had a nasty bite scar across his side from a warg - he had been stuck in bed nearly as long as he and Kili. Oin had apparently only lost his hearing trumpet but it’s loss was leading to the hearing loss of the rest of the dwarrow in the healing halls, Fili included.

 

Ori had been stabbed in the shoulder and might never have full movement in the arm again. Dori had gotten a scar down across one side of his nose that curve to the bottom of one of his ears. Nori apparently had a temporary limp but Fili didn’t know if that wasn’t simply Bofur’s exaggeration. He hadn’t actually seen hide nor hair of the thief. But according to Oin, while Nori’s limping would be temporary, Kili’s likely would not be.

 

Thorin was in much the same state as Fili with multiple broken ribs and an infection fought off through the winter. Fili hadn’t seen Thorin yet but he was likely busy with Dain and political things.

 

And Bifur now resided in the Halls waiting for them.

 

Fili rubbed his chest again. No one knew exact how Llorabell was. Dwalin had admitted to knocking her out when she had started screaming her head off. He had then secured her on the back of bear-Beorn. But Oin was certain, from hearing of the blow to the chest and Fili’s descriptions of what he knew, that Llorabell had at least broken a few ribs. She was alive, though. That was all that mattered in the end.

 

“There’s a meeting I need you to attend.” Balin said after a moment of silence. He dropped a stack of folded clothing. Fili recognized only his furred coat.

 

“Bed rest is over, then?” Asked Fili as he threw his blankets to the side and stood up.

 

Balin answered as he picked up the forgotten pillow, “For you.” The white haired dwarf threw the pillow at Kili who had moved to leave his own bed, “But not you.”

 

“What! Bu-”

 

Balin flashed a flat look at Kili. “But nothing. You almost lost a leg which means you’re stuck in that bed till Oin, and only Oin, tells you to leave.”

 

Kili scowled and folded his arms. “So why’s he allowed out?” The brunette asked, nodding his chin at his half dressed brother.

 

Fili looked up from pulling his boots on in time to see Balin grimace. Fili frowned in response, “What is this meeting about?”

 

Balin answered with a sigh, “Dain’s council wants to talk to Thorin about taking back Erebor from the orcs. They’re tired of waiting.”

 

“And uncle cannot go talk to them because?” Fili asked slowly. A hint of dread fluttered in his gut.

 

The scholar answered quickly, “Because he is still healing. Oin was going to let you out of bed within the next day either way so I informed them that you’d be able to meet with them.”  Balin turned fully toward Fili, “I am not sure how this is going to go, Fili. We don’t have the Arkenstone so the likelyhood of them actually agreeing to aid us because of their allegiance is... suspect.”

 

Balin’s hand rose to stroke his missing beard once more. The dwarf paused to frown and drop his hand, his eyes staring at it for a moment before turning back to add, “Dain lost many good dwarrow when he came to aid us. Nori has informed me that most here seem to blame us for those deaths just like with the last battle for Moria. Our welcome is stretching thin, according to him.”

 

“Well...” Kili paused to glance between Balin and Fili. “Well, better you than me, then.” He finally said with fake cheer and a weak grin.  

 

Fili pulled the tunic out from the pile and stared at the deep blue, Durin’s blue. It was uncle’s tunic. “So, uncle is still recovering…” Fili glanced over at Balin to see the scholar stiffen, “from broken ribs and fever...Just like I had.”

 

“That’s right..” Breathed Kili. Worry flood the younger prince’s voice, “Balin?”

 

“Thorin isn’t in any condition to meet with anyone, Fili,” Balin stated. “He’s having a time of it recovering from...from the fever.”

 

“Right.” Fili tightened his belt around the deep blue tunic and stomped over to Kili with a comb. His younger brother made quick work of Fili’s braids. Unlike his usual two beside each ear, Kili added a few more before combining the braids into a more complicated design.

 

If he was to represent the Durin royal line, he would need all the correct braids and beads. Balin silently handed over a few more beads - ones that likely represented the quest to reclaim Erebor and the battle Fili had survived. Fili braided his mustache before rubbing the beard that had grown long across his jaw and cheeks.

 

He hadn’t had a chance to trim up his beard since before the battle. He preferred to keep his beard short. Of course, it was also expected of him since Thorin’s beard was short. It wouldn’t do for the heir to have a longer beard than the king. Fili didn’t think he’d bother growing it out either way, though. He liked his beard short. And he like his mustache, no matter how much amad shook her head at him for the braids.

 

His wistful smile at the thoughts of his amad’s nagging faded as Balin interrupted. “Alright laddie, let’s be off.”

 

Fili heaved another sigh as he stood. This was going to be a long day, even though he finally got to leave the healing hall. Balin led Fili through the dark grey halls. Torch light flickered every few feet, reflecting off geometric designs highlighted in gleaming black wrought iron.

 

Blue eyes ran over the designs; he spotted the markings for the Longbeards, Blacklocks, and Stonefoots Houses. The Iron Hills was the foothold of Durin’s folk in the east. It was the gateway to where four of the seven great Houses resided. Erebor had once been that gateway where east met west.

 

The Iron Hills never reached the position Erebor had held. It was too far north, and it had too little resources beyond iron ore. Of course, the best weapons and armor needed iron ore.

 

Of the four houses, the Blacklocks and Stonefoots were the two to interact with the Longbeards. The Ironfists held a centuries old grudge against Durin’s folk and the Stiffbeards allied with them. But those clans lived east of Rhun and without the Arkenstone they would never come west.

 

The blond prince had never understood why those two eastern houses had sworn on the Arkenstone. At least, not until he had seen it himself. There was power within that glowing stone. Or, well, there had been. Fili frowned as he recalled the stone’s destruction. He hadn’t seen it but only a fool would have missed the very earth shaking and the screaming and...and the feeling of loss when it had been destroyed.

 

What power did the stone possess? Had possessed?

 

“Fili… Laddie,” Balin spoke up, his voice a low rumble as he tried to keep his voice from traveling, “Don’t promise anything. They’ll try to get you to promise something for their aid.” Balin looked up at him with a grim barring, “They’ve always tried to force promises for something. Sometimes you have to agree to it but not in this case. Erebor is Thorin’s and Your’s. They have no right nor claim to any of it. Don’t promise them such.”

 

The dwarven prince stared for a second. Balin’s advise rang in his mind and all Fili could think was one thing. The flutter of nerves entered his gut as he stated, “You’re not coming in.”

 

“No.” Balin agreed.

 

They turned the corner, revealing a large open courtyard. The walls gave way to sturdy stone balusters with wrought iron decorating them and creating hand rails as the metal rose up the columns. Llorabell would be pleased, if Kili was telling the truth.

 

A huge set of stone steps with dwarves rushing up and down them scaled down forty feet until reaching the courtyard’s floor. Every eight feet or so the stair’s opened on either side, the step elongated into a landing, and a hall, much like the one Fili and Balin had traveled down, branched off into other parts of the mountain.

 

It was impressive. It had nothing against the might of Erebor, though.

 

Fili followed Balin down the steps as his thoughts traveled back to the matter at hand. He mulled over the reasons for Balin’s absence for a few moments as they pushed their way through the crowds. Finally, when none came to mind, he asked, “Why?”

 

Balin scowled, causing Fili to pause in surprise. “Technically, my family’s lordship resides within Erebor.” Balin looked at Fili, “With Erebor gone I have no such position. I have always been considered simply a scholar. Nothing more.”

 

“That’s why you never bore any beads.” Fili breathed.

 

The older dwarf shook his head, “No, no Laddie. I do not bear beads nor braid both because I have no right to claim my lordship, as all lords of Erebor should do if they have any hint honor, but also because my king waits to wear his own beads.” Balin added sharply, “No lord worth his loyalty would bear his position’s beads until their king was reestablished proper.”

 

“I could wear my craftsmen and family beads but I swore to Thorin that I would not. Not until King Thrain or he were returned to their rightful place and position. Until the other houses treat our king properly, I will not wear any.”

 

Fili shook his head as he remarked quietly, “You didn’t swear on regaining Erebor in all that.”

 

Balin looked hard at the prince as he answered, “Erebor is only a place. Yes it is our home and a place of safety we have not had in years nor you have ever experienced but it is only a place, a single mountain. There are more important things than a mountain.”

 

The scholar turned away from Fili and nodded down the hall. “Here we are.”

 

Double doors of wrought iron and sentries in full plate gleaned from vibrant fire pits on each of it’s side. The doors stood closed. Fili pressed his lips together as he wondered if he should take it as a slight or not.

 

“I’ll speak with you after,” Fili said.

 

“I’ll be waiting out here.” Balin answered.

 

The blond prince looked over at his advisor, teacher, and friend. “I’ll speak with you _and_ Thorin.”

 

Balin stiffened, “Laddie-”

 

Fili didn’t wait to hear Balin’s excuse. He turned and strolled down to the closed doors, back straight. The nerves fluttered louder in his gut. He could feel his heart pound as he walked to his first council meeting with foreign dwarrow. It would be his first with no true ally, too.

 

The stark feeling of loss hit him as one of the sentries opened the door and the sound of multiple dwarrow filter out. He missed how simple life had been before Tharkûn had found his uncle.

 

“Ah, Prince Fili,” greeted a dwarrow in deep red velvet. “Please have a seat.”

 

Fili raised an eyebrow as he glanced over the ostentatiously dress dwarves. Beards of red, brown, and black were decorated with fine beads and braids. More than one dwarf present had once been an Erebor noble. They were the dwarrow who had had the connections in place to keep their obscenely rich living standards, though it was at the cost of whole clans they had been charged to care for and watch over.

 

Dain grinned cheerfully in the middle of the first line of nobles, his seat possessing a higher back to indicate his position. In an auditorium style, two more rows of nobles sat behind the Iron Hill lord. The dwarrow in the first row were likely Dain’s advisors and close allies.

 

All the political training he had half forgot forced it’s way to the forefront of his mind as he turned to the single chair facing the crowd. It was similarly styled to Dain’s, so no one was making an obviously rude gesture but it’s position alone spoke of the tone this meeting was going to have.

 

It was him against the Iron Hills.

 

Fili paused before his seat. While the chair had the same substantial presence of Dain’s, the nobles would all be looking down on him. Fili pivoted around and settled his feet in a slightly spread stance. He folded his arms behind his back and Fili looked directly at Dain, silently reminding himself not to tilt his head up. He shouldn’t give any sign of having to look up to the lord, no matter the dwarf’s familial position as some form of cousin.

 

He was a prince of Durin. Dain was a simple lord.

 

“Shall we begin?” Ask Fili.

 

Dain’s grin widened. Most of his advisor’s scowled. Fili couldn’t help but wish he had paid more mind to Thorin’s opinions on their Iron Hill cousin. He could have used a hint of what Dain’s position might be. All Fili knew was Dain refused to aid in taking back Erebor from the dragon but came to keep it from being claimed by elves.

 

All that meant was Dain was neither stupid nor desperate. His position in the Iron Hills was secure. And he would not take his loyal warriors to their almost guaranteed deaths. Dain considered his people over gold and glory. But he was as prejudiced as most towards elves.

 

Fili couldn’t really blame him for that last one. The blond wouldn’t have called Thranduil a forest pixie, though. That was too nice.

 

One of the advisor’s leaned forward. “Erebor must be reclaimed from the orcs.”

 

Fili opened his mouth to respond but another lord spat out, “We’ve lost too many of our people for that mountain, for Durin’s folk.” Fili snapped his gaze over to the lord. He had a thick black beard. Vibrant jewels and colored velvets contrasted nicely with his dark bronze skin. All indicators of being a Blacklock but not definitive answers as the eastern Houses intermixed as much as the western.

 

Fili’s own coloring was more indicative of his father’s firebeard heritage than his mother’s longbeard. Even his slighter height compared to Kili and Thorin were indicative of his father. And yet he was the heir to the longbeard house. The prince shook himself from his contemplation as the room filled with chatter.

 

More lords jumped in by the minute, each soon shouting to make themselves heard. Fili tilted his head in thought as he listened to the arguments. They all were either for or against the idea of reclaiming Erebor. None had actually said anything about putting men towards the effort.

 

Fili met Dain’s stare. The Iron Hill Lord hadn’t joined in. Fili frowned and Dain gained a pleased look behind his manic grin. Finally, a lord shouted out the reason Fili had been asked in front of them.

 

“What would Erebor give for our aid? What compensation will we receive for our dead? For the dead if we aid you more?”

 

Though those questions were directed at Fili, the room of nobles jumped in to say their piece. They all had an opinion on what they deserved to receive. None of the ideas were even slightly reasonable. Fili had a feeling he should have taken the offered chair.

 

The day stretched long as Fili had feared. The arguments grew to near blows more than once. And yet neither Fili or Dain spoke up. Eventually the council was interrupted for the midday meal. Fili silently thanked the maid for the respite of his aching feet.

 

A lord, one with deep red hair, which indicated Firebeard ancestry but was likely more closely tied to the Stonefoot House if his large decorative plate boots were any indication, appeared at his side. Fili glanced at the dwarf before continuing to leave the room.

 

“Prince Fili.” The lord said cheerfully, “Quite a coal mine your company has dug up for us.”

 

Fili hummed in response as he looked around the hall for Balin.

 

“We all, of course, wish the return of Erebor and the once great presence of our eldest House in the east.” The lord rambled on as Fili paid him little mind, “But it is a give and take matter, you must understand. We cannot simply give and give and never receive compensation when compensation is due.”

 

The lord followed at Fili’s side through the crowd. None seemed to pay any mind and after a moment Fili realized that they were the only nobles in the area, the council had all gone down the other direction. The communal hall likely resided that way. Fili frowned as he stepped to the side and continued his search for Balin.

 

The lord continued to ramble at him. “I, for one, could be persuaded to convince fellows of the council that compensation is due at the time of delivery and no later, as is only right with these matters. After all, one cannot expect such an effort to be rewarded before the time of achievement and, of course, a certain amount of recovery time to take stalk of all resources, finalizing the cost of the endeavours that lead to the common goal, living situations, certain important personages placements of old, reviewing of documents of import, and return of various clans.”  

 

Balin finally appeared from one of the halls branching off the large staircase. Fili moved to meet him when the lord grabbed his arm and successfully forced Fili’s attention on him, the the dwarf didn’t seem to realize that the prince hadn’t been paying any mind to the conversation.

 

“-give and take has to be given proper due and a simple promise of payment would not be acceptable on these matters. Instead, I do believe a contractual agreement between parties would be a sufficient matter to convince all parties of the endeavours to keep to honored words.”

 

Fili frowned at the lord as his mind caught on to the general point of the dwarf’s ramblings. “Contract?” He asked as he wondered if he really wanted to know.

 

A pleased looked answered Fili’s question as the dwarf answered, “Of course I would need a contractual agreement succulently acceptable for my efforts before we can work with the entire council on the contract between Erebor and the Iron Hills.”

 

“What?”

 

The lord cheerfully rambled on, not paying any mind to Fili’s confusion, “I could have my legal team script up the contract and bring it to your suite. You’d have to give your guard permission to allow me entry. And I’d need to bring at least two of my team in case there is any negotiation matters when going over the contract, not that I’d expect such-”

 

“What are you going on about?” Fili interrupted even as Balin reached him.

 

The dwarf lord blinked, surprised, “Why, the marriage contract, of course!”

 

“Marriage contract?” Asked Balin.

 

“Between my daughter and Prince Fili.” Expanded the lord before leaning in and whispering loudly, “Connections must be made to have any chance in reaching a favorable conclusion on the matter of Erebor’s reclamation from the orc army. I was just discussing the matter with his Highness-”

 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to continue this conversation with Prince Fili another time. His brother is asking for him.” Balin interrupted, grabbing Fili’s arm and hastily dragging the blond away.

 

Fili put up on fight as he focused on the dwarf lords words. A marriage contract? Fili had never heard of that happening when the pair were not Ones.

 

“Didn’t I tell you not to promise anything!” Snapped out Balin once they reached an empty hallway.

 

“I-”

 

“Of all the irresponsible, foolhardy things to agree to! A marriage is to be expected eventually but to agree to something without even taking the time to meet the girl and mother...And what would Dis say on the matter? Or your father.”

 

“Adad-”

 

“Thorin will be outraged. That wasn't even a high ranking advisor for Dain. It’s just a waste to go through such a contract.” Balin ranted out.

 

“What are you-”

 

“-should have never agree to such without proper consideration of all the various lords’ daughters that are of age. A good stock for bearing children should be considered and there is the fact that there have never been any Stiffbeard or Ironfoot blood entered into the direct line before. Never expected that to change, let alone when I still lived.”

 

“Balin!”

 

The scholar finally paused in his rant to scowl over at the younger dwarf. Fili glared back both affronted and frustrated. “First.” Hissed out the prince, “I have not agreed to any contract with anyone.”

 

Balin’s scowl faded.

 

“Second, what in the Maker are you ranting about? Why would I marry some female that isn’t my One? Why would any of you - Amad, Adad, uncle, you - have any say in who I marry? And why the hell would I marry for any reason beyond wanting to marry her?”

 

The scholar stared for a second before sighing. Balin looked away from Fili as he remarked in response, “Sometimes I forget how much you’ve been sheltered growing up away from the other houses.”

 

Frustration grew at the lack of answers. “Balin?”

 

He waved his hand about for a second, “You’re ignorant if you think our Ones’ have any meaning to nobles more concerned with power, politics, and gold.” Balin looked hard at Fili, “It’s rare when a noble has the opportunity to marry their One. How’d you think the Ri clan came into being?”

 

Balin shook his head, “Your father demanded that you and Kili wouldn’t be forced into any marriage contract without your full consent and after you were of age. It was his one demand to allow Thorin to claim you both as his heirs.”

 

“If Thorin hadn’t agreed, you both would be considered firebeards instead of longbeards. You’d be your father’s common born heirs and Ones would mean something. But you aren’t. You are Durin’s heir. You’ll be Erebor’s king and you’ll need an heir of your own once we’ve reclaimed the mountain once more.”

 

Balin nodded to himself, “This was going to occur eventually, especially with Erebor so close at hand. Other lords will be confronting you, hoping to wed their daughter and make them queens. Once you’re married they’ll turn to Kili. Of course, as I said, you have a say in the matter.”

  
The scholar looked hard at Fili, “So no agreeing to anything until you’ve taken the time to learn of all your options.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assume all Dwarrow are speaking in Khuzdul to each other. When dwarves speak to non-dwarves assume common (unless it's in neo-Khuzdul).
> 
> Also, let me know if any male characters aren't coming across as male as you'd expect. This is a challenge for me, writing from a male character's perspective so feel free to tell me if he starts feeling a little feminine cause, he's not really supposed to.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Novus Ars
> 
>  
> 
> Khuzdul:  
> Amad - mother  
> Adad - father  
> Uslukh’omrid - Dragon Death  
> buhâ'oDurinur und Erebor - friend of line of Durin and Erebor
> 
> let me know if I missed a a translation!


	2. Finding a Way

Chapter Two: Finding a Way (or what feels like part 2 of chapter 1)  


 

“We all need to talk,” Fili said quietly, pushing the ridiculousness of political maneuvering to the back of his mind. He’d deal with the implications of not marrying his One later, when he didn’t feel like sucker-punching Balin. 

 

Balin grimaced, “Thorin is resting. Oin’s orders-”

 

“I don’t care.” Fili bit out, still annoyed at Balin. Balin nodded with a sigh.

 

The advisor led Fili past the hall he had come from earlier and a courtyard clearly used as the reception of the healing halls, and down another hallway until they reached the end where the smallest of windows freed a beam of orange light down through glass. The sun was setting, not that Fili needed light to know that fact. The meeting was likely recommencing soon.

 

Dwalin was leaning against the wall with folded arms, fully armed and armored. Fili raised an eyebrow at the battle readiness. Dwalin just bared a tight grin as he gave a short greeting, “Brother, Fili.” He was guarding a large black iron door.

 

“How is he?” Asked Balin. 

 

“Still a damned idiot.” Dwalin bit back.

 

Balin nodded before he pulled open the door without any preamble, not even bothering to knock. The room was dark, no candlelight, only a pot of glowing fungi in a corner and the orange light from the hall’s window peaked through the doorway. Fili stepped in. Balin followed, closing the door behind and causing the room to darken even more. 

 

“Thorin.” Balin greeted, his voice pitched an octave lower and softer than normal, giving the advisor a placating tone. No response came. “Laddie, we’ve come to see how you’re feeling.”

 

Fili’s eyes adjusted and he glanced around the room. In one corner was a table with the potted plant, a wash basin, a mug, a comb, a small bowl with glittering silver (likely beads), and a pitcher. Across from the table in the adjacent corner was a chamber pot. In the other corner was a bed stripped of all sheets or blankets. Only a mattress and pillow rested on it. Fili turned to see the corner he couldn’t see. 

 

Thorin sat slumped, wrapped in blankets. The prince could only tell it was Thorin by the fact that it moved slightly and that Dwalin would have noticed Thorin leave the room. 

 

“Uncle?” Fili asked, suddenly unsure he wanted to know what was wrong. 

 

“Get out.” Cracked a voice, the baritone broken against raw vocal cords. 

 

“Laddie-”

 

“Leave me!” Snapped Thorin. The blankets flew off him as he flashed his arm out at them and waved over at the closed door. The King of Erebor was a mess, hair unkempt, beard uncared for, clothed only in sweat stained underthings. 

 

Any fear of Thorin being trapped in gold sickness once more vanished with a strange twist of relief and a drop of his gut. Something else was wrong.

 

Fili stared for a long moment before turning to Balin and nodding at the door. With a short look from Balin, the older dwarf silently left the room. Fili turned back to his uncle and regarded the dwarf. 

 

Thorin had tugged the blankets back around himself to hide from the world. Fili walked over and sank down to the floor besides him. Silence fell over them as Fili waited. The young dwarf shifted over after a moment and again until, after what had to have been a good twenty minutes of silence, his shoulder knocked against his uncle’s. Immediately Thorin stiffened at the contact but over the next few minutes he relaxed.

 

Sitting silently there with his uncle reminded Fili of the many time his uncle sat with him when he was down. The sharpest memory was soon after Kili’s birth. Amad had been on strict bed rest and all her attention went to Kili. Adad was at the two’s side the entire time. He had felt left out and alone, really alone for the first time. He had been replaced. He didn’t feel like he was part of the family anymore.

 

Uncle had found him hiding in one of the many dead end, unrefined halls of their small mountain home. He had sat down against the rough stone walls and waited until Fili had finally spoken up. Fili had never expected to return the support. 

 

“I deserve none of you.” Thorin spoke up finally, “Only pity and disgust.”

 

“Uncle-”

 

“Go back to Kili, guide the others,“ Thorin continued voice on the point of breaking, “I asked you to follow me one last time. I deserve nothing after that last chance to redeem myself...Now they will follow you. You will do what I could not.”

 

He had never seen his uncle as anything but a mountain never bowing under pressure, a furnace roaring through obstacles and threats, protecting and guiding everyone. Now it was as if the furnace that was his uncle had finally smoldered to a dying ember after everything it had burned and roared through. His uncle had finally reached his breaking point. 

 

Fili pressed his shoulder more firmly against his uncle’s as he stated softly, “You are our King.”

 

Thorin shook his head sharply, “I led us to ruin. Hoarded gold meant more than cheer and song and good company…more than food. You grew up knowing only those things to treasure. Your One sees the same. With you leading our people it will become a...merrier world, no matter where you lead them.”

 

Fili aborted his rebuttal as certain words clicked. “My One?”

 

Thorin turned and gave him an odd look, some form of exasperation twisting his expression. “You cannot be serious.”

 

The young dwarf flushed red, “Uncle…” Balin’s earlier rant jumped to the forefront and he spoke up without truly meaning his words, “I have to marry a dwarrowdam for alliances to reclaim Erebor since we are without the Arkenstone. And I cannot leave Kili to do such. He should have the opportunity to find his O-”

 

“You have my permission and blessing and full support to pursue your One, lad.” Thorin interrupted. He slumped back against the wall, turning from Fili. “I...I had meant to tell you that before...In Erebor.” Thorin shook his head and the hint of fire that had reappeared when speaking faded. His shoulders slumped and the blankets were tugged tighter around himself. “You deserve so much more, all of you.”

 

“Thank you, Uncle.” Fili said the burden of duty faded to the back of his mind at the acceptance. Balin couldn’t counter their king’s word. He couldn’t pursue Llor when she was half across the world nor could he go after her yet. Thorin needed to regain his bearing and take up his position as king. Then Fili would be able to chase after his One. 

 

The young prince frowned as he forced himself to focus on his uncle once more. Fili realized how Thorin must have taken his thanks and spoke up to squish the belief Fili might have accept the position of king. “But you are still King. I will not take that from you! You’ve led us so far; we’ve done so much for amad and adad...and our people. You cannot give up now.”

 

A snort escaped the bundle of blankets. 

 

“Uncle, you’re not one to languish like this.” Fili said as he nudged Thorin’s shoulder.

 

“I have failed.” Snapped the dwarven king. His head turned towards Fili as he spoke, his eyes gleamed with suppressed pain. “ _ Failed _ .” He croaked. Fili stared, his voice caught in his throat. The prince couldn’t help but wonder at the devastation in those blue eyes. Thorin whispered out as he wrapped the blankets up to cover his face, “Begone.”

 

Fili rose, stared unsure down at the pile of blankets guarding his uncle from the world, and left the room. He was missing something. Thorin had succeeded in regaining Erebor (though temporarily), had defeated Smaug, and had the Iron Hills willing to aid them in retaking Erebor from the goblins and orcs. Such a force was nothing compared to the terrifying might of a dragon.

 

The blond looked up at Dwalin; Balin was gone. “Why?” He asked. Someone had to know the reason this temporary failure had affected Thorin so deeply. “Erebor is almost ours once more and yet...”

 

Dwalin snorted, folded his arms and countered, “He failed where he promised to never.”

 

Fili frowned at the older dwarf, “So… this isn’t about Erebor?”

 

“Lad, Thorin swore he was not his Grandfather. Swore from the moment he was able to understand and see the grasp gold had on Thor... Losing Erebor is just reinforcing the issue.” Dwalin explained. “Let’s remember yer uncle is as much a dwarf as yerself.”

 

The prince flushed at the reminder of his childhood days putting various dwarves, most prominently Thorin, on a pedestal. He learned not to do so but it was hard sometimes when Thorin had done so much for them, every last one of Durin’s folk in exile. 

 

Fili had not been the only one to place Thorin on such a pedestal and over the years it had affected uncle; it caused uncle to expect more and more from himself. This was another case of that. Thorin had not been the only one to fall to the gold sickness. “But.” Fili said hesitantly as he gathered his thoughts, “But, we fell to the sickness also.”

 

Dwalin snorted. “Aye.” The warrior agreed, a hint of loathing filtered into his voice, “Fell to that thrice damned gold and lost our home twice over because of it.” Dwalin shook his head before he added, his voice back to normal once more, “That’s why he’s an idiot.” 

 

Fili gave a short nod at that. Dwalin was obviously done with the conversation so the blonde headed back the way he’d come. This was an issue he was in no position to help. He could only be there for Thorin and hope he came to accept what happened or that someone could beat that fact into his head. 

 

Until then Fili needed to figure out what to do. He would have to work with Dain and the council to come to some agreement. He would have to decide what the best course was for Durin’s folk.

 

It was a daunting thought. 

 

It took only a few minutes to reach his and Kili’s room. Ori was inside quietly talking with Kili. 

 

“We weren’t able to get Bifur’s body when we fled the battlefield. Bofur and Bombur have been petitioning for the chance to go do so but Dain’s council has been holding them off, going on about all the other dwarves that were left at the battlefield that had as much - or well more, according to them, - rights to a proper burial.” Ori said. 

 

“What else has been happening?” Asked Fili, causing Ori to jump. 

 

The scribe flushed in embarrassment as he turned to look at Fili. “Uh, well...Not much really. Bombur and Dori have been keeping an eye on our gear. They’ve made sure all our weapons and armor, the ones we took from Erebor, haven’t gone missing. As I told Kili, some of the healers had tried to take some of it. We’ve gotten a number of offers, everyone wants a piece from Erebor’s treasure, especially when it was claimed and lost once more.” 

 

Ori paused before a thought clearly sprang to mind, obvious when his eyes widened slightly before he spoke up once more, “Uh, oh. Gloin and Balin sent news of the situation to the Blue Mountains a few days ago.”

 

“Just a few days ago?” Asked Kili in surprise. “Amad is going to kill us.”

 

Ori shrugged and grimaced at the movement, his hand pressing into the other arm’s bicep. Fili pressed his lips tight at the reminder of Ori’s injury. 

 

“Eh, careful.” Kili said in concern. “Oin said you shouldn’t strain yourself.”

 

“That shouldn’t hurt.” Grumbled Ori before he took a short breath and forced his shoulders to relax. The redhead turned back to Fili, “The ravens refused to go sooner because they didn’t think they’d make it over the Misty Mountains.”

 

“Winter.” Said Fili with a nod of understanding.

 

“Not an excuse, Fee.” Grumbled Kili. “Amad is going to kill us and Adad isn’t going to stop her!”

 

Fili slumped onto his bed with a shrug. “We’re still halfway across the world, Kee. Adad is likely to calm down by the time we see him.”

 

Ori snorted at the statement. Or, Fili considered the scribe, Ori might have recognized their hopeless situation with their mother.  She was going to kill them. Taking out uncle first would calm her down in a usual situation but uncle wouldn’t be hard to kill at the moment, not in his state. There was a possibility that Adad will have calmed down enough to try and distract her after she killed Thorin though.

 

A smile tugged at his lips at the thought. It’s not that she would actually kill any of them but everyone knew not to antagonize her. No one had bothered warning Fili or Kili of the fact. Ever. Of course, you’d think they would have figured that out on their own after the third mishap.

 

The three sat quietly for a few minutes before Fili spoke up, “I would gladly help Bombur and Bofur collect and bury Bifur.”

 

“I’d help also but I’m not going to be much help against any orcs.” Ori said. “And, we’re at Dain’s disposal. With so many of us still recovering, we cannot anger him.”

 

Fili frowned. Bifur deserved a proper burial. He sat up straight. The next step in reclaiming Erebor was to scout out the area and situation. That would take the scouting party close to where their last company member lay.  “I can propose a scouting trip with myself and a few of the rest of us. We do need to see the situation with Erebor in any case.”

 

Ori brightened at the idea before frowning, “But they’ll insist on some of their own going also.”

 

“We’d have to be precise about it, then.” Kili countered.

 

An amused grin flickered across Fili’s face, “Precise, eh?”

 

His younger brother rolled his eyes as he countered Fili’s teasing, “Which of us shoots arrows for a living nadad?” 

 

“Neither unless you’ve joined one of those circuses behind my back.” Fili promptly answered. A pillow smacked into his face a second later. Fili grabbed the pillow and sprang at his brother, smacking it multiple times into Kili’s head. 

 

Ori ignored Kili’s shouts for help as he filled the room with warm laughter. The two brothers joined in with their own shouting laughs as the three took a moment to enjoy living. None of them had taken a moment to do so since the battle. Their hearts lightened as they finally allowed themselves the moment. 

 

Balin entered soon after. Fili stopped his attack on his brother to stare at Balin, his very presence reminded Fili of the earlier verbal attack. “Balin.” Fili greeted, his voice came out cold though he hadn’t meant for his annoyance to show through. Part of him wanted to announce Thorin’s approval of Llorabell. He kept it at bay with the thought of how childish it would sound so sooner after the earlier argument, as if he had run to his uncle to tatle.

 

Kili and Ori picked up on his tone and quieted. The two glanced between Fili and Balin in silent concern. 

 

Balin nodded at them all before he said, “Fili, lad, the meeting is rejourning in a few minutes. Dain asked if I could retrieve you.”

 

“I see.” Fili answered blandly.

 

Ori met Fili’s eyes for a moment before turning to Balin, “We were talking about Fili proposing to lead a scouting party to Erebor. I think Gloin, Bombur, and Dori are fit enough to go with him.”

 

Balin started, stared at Ori and then turned to look at both Fili and Kili. At their intent stares, a thoughtful look crossed Balin’s face. “That...is a very good idea. We would have to offer Dain to send a few troops also. I would have Dwalin and Gloin go with you though. Dwalin would be able to note the potential battlefields and Gloin has an eye for stone, though a abanizûghel would be better to send. Dori would be an excellent choice as back up even with his lack of training. His strength alone has always given him an advantage. Bombur though, he isn’t really warrior material.”

 

“Bombur is going.” Fili stated firmly. “We’ll be making a side trip during the scouting.”

 

Understanding flashed across the old scribe’s eyes, and any tension between Fili and Balin faded for the moment. “Of course.” Agreed Balin. “A scouting party shouldn’t be too large though. We would offer two positions for Iron Hill dwarves with the request that one is a abanizûghel.” Balin rubbed his short beard thoughtfully for a moment before he added, “You’ll have to make it sound like a gift to the council, a privilege you are bestowing on the Iron Hills. We don’t need their men to make this scouting trip. With that in mind though, Bombur, Dwalin, and Gloin would be good.”

 

“I think Dwalin would prefer to stay guard over uncle. Uncle might listen to him.“ agreed Fili as he stood up. “Shall we?”

 

Balin nodded still with a thoughtful look written across his face.

 

“Have fun.” Kili snarked at their back as they left the room. Fili helpfully flashed a rude hand motion behind his back. 

 

It didn’t take long for the two to reach the double doors of the council room as they moved in silent purpose through the halls. Balin clasped Fili on the shoulder for a moment before leaving.

 

Fili entered, purposely not losing his stride until he reached his throne like chair. This time he settled into it. The room was still being filled with the Iron Hill council. Dain wasn’t present yet. Fili hummed and relaxed back, stretched his legs out and folded his feet together. 

 

The blond noted disgruntlement crossing a few of the council members at the sight of him relaxing. He found that he didn’t care. Amusement filled him as he recalled more of his training. Fili had already shown that they couldn’t demean him. Now, without even thinking he had indicated that they were below his notice or concern. 

 

The blond glanced purposely at his nails and had the sudden wish for one of his knives. While he would rather punch Nori at the moment, he had the sudden desire to clean his nails with one of his knives just like the thief did. Nori had always pissed off Dwalin when doing that.

 

Fili looked up when Dain entered. His cousin grinned at him as their eyes met. He really needed to remember to ask Thorin and Balin, maybe even Dwalin, their opinion on the Iron Hill lord. Dain settled into his own throne.

 

Not a minute later one of the councilmen restarted the argument. Fili was almost certain he had restarted it exactly where it had ended, at least at that end of the council room. But before the room could dissolve back into argument, the lord who had tried to trick him into a betrothal earlier barked out, “I believe arguing for argument's sack is not what we’ve come here to do. Prince Fili has come before us understanding the situation otherwise he would have continued his council with the ailing king.”

 

Fili forced his brows from raising. The lord, and likely the majority of the council, knew he had gone to see Thorin. They didn’t know what had been said otherwise the dwarf wouldn’t have spoken up. The lord was expecting a marriage between his daughter and Fili, after all. Fili tilted his head as he considered the lord. He was pushing the matter here where Balin wasn’t because he thought Fili was fool enough to agree in front of witnesses.

 

That wasn’t going to happen but this was as good as any opening. 

 

“And how is our king? I haven’t had an opportunity to go visit of late.” Asked Dain, speaking in the council for the first time.  

 

Fili tilted his head to the side, catching Dain’s eyes, before he spoke, “Our king’s recovery is going well…” The blond paused as he focused on how to phrase this. He didn’t want to imply he was running things because Thorin was unfit, no matter how true it was at the moment. 

 

And he was running things, Fili realized. Balin wasn’t in a position to do so, though he must have been doing what he could while Thorin and Fili recovered. That left him. Or Kili. 

 

Mahal, when he left it all was going to fall on Kili. 

 

Fili gave himself a mental shake before expanding on the conversation. That was a thought best to ignore for now. “He has ordered I lead an expedition. It is an opportunity to work together on the first steps towards reclaiming our ancestral home.”

 

The council all perked up like a pack of dogs seeing a bone. But, surprisingly, none of the lords spoke up. This was between Fili, or well Thorin according to his words, and Dain - between the King of Durin’s folk and Erebor, and the Lord of the Iron Hills. They may all be lords and well established, wealthy merchants or influential guild members of the Eastern Guild Halls but they were nothing in stature to their residing lord. 

 

“Aye, well what’s the details laddie?” Asked Dain.

 

Fili sat up properly before expanding on the supposed orders, “A select group of the company are to travel to the Erebor and scout out the situation at hand. As our comrade capable of abanizûghel fell during the battle of Erebor, we would like to offer the position to a member of the Iron Hills with the capability. The ability would give a better understanding of the situation, as you can imagine. We would take one other Iron Hill warrior, preferably one of your more skilled trackers and scouts, someone knowledgeable of the land between here and Erebor. We need to be agile and easily hidden otherwise I would consider more warriors going as we’ll be so close to that orc army.”

 

Quiet rumblings filled the hall as the council spoke to their neighbors, all discussing the matter though none speaking loud enough to make it appear they were trying to force their opinion onto Dain. The Iron Hill lord nodded thoughtfully at Fili before turning to regard one side of his advisors and then the other side. At the glance, the various advisors leaned toward their lord and deliberated over their thoughts on the offer. 

 

After listening to the advice, Dain turned back to Fili. “I accept the offer. I’ll discuss the details with you tomorrow.” The lord then leaned back and called out, “Does anyone have recommended scouts?”

 

The room exploded with sound as the lessor lords shouted out their thoughts on the matter. Fili slumped back into his seat and listened with half an ear as the lords offered some warrior or scout connected to their clans. Slowly the recommendations tightened into only a few names as the dwarrow naturally debated themselves towards appropriate options. 

 

It was interesting watching the natural course of a debate from the outside. This debate would have a simple conclusion. Dain would likely leave the hall with a list of two or five possible scouts to deliberate over. It was an effective structure when it worked properly. 

 

Fili hadn’t seen such before, though he had heard of Erebor’s councils working in similar fashion. Thorin ruled with a small group of advisors in the Blue Mountains. Adad, Amad, Balin, Dwalin, Gloin, Oin, and a few others were called upon for an opinion if Thorin thought they had experience in the area. 

 

Of course, Amad ruled the Blue Mountains the majority of the year. Thorin would travel as a blacksmith collecting money to support the small community, like the majority of dwarrow. He’d return for Winter and leave as Spring thawed to Summer. 

 

Any issues and major decisions Amad hadn’t been able to complete or felt needed Thorin’s council would be tackled immediately. The limited guilds had an opportunity to bring up grievances and Thorin ran a weekly open court to cover any grievances amongst the hall residences that wanted to confer with him over Amad. 

 

Fili came back to the meeting as Dain took it back over and closed it out. An advisor, one of the four or five scribes recording the entire time, handed Dain a parchment before scurrying over to Fili. The blonde nodded at the scribe as the dwarf paused before him.

 

“Your copy of the meeting, your Highness.” Bowed the scribe. Fili took the proffered stack of parchment and watched, bemused, as the scribe bowed a couple more times as he backed away and left. 

 

The young prince shook his head and turned to the door and couldn’t stop the grimace at the sight of lingering nobles glancing his way. Fili had little doubt what they all wanted with him.

 

An arm dropped onto his shoulder and squeezed him. Dain’s voice ranged out cheerful against Fili’s ear, “Well laddie ya’ve grown right proper! Always knew Dis would raise a fine lad.”

 

Fili smiled, bemused. “Well…”

 

Dain grinned at him. Fili blinked as he realized he was slightly taller than the lord but it wasn’t obvious with Dain’s giant iron boots. His great red beard made him appear broader but he wasn’t actually. Dain reminded Fili of Gloin. They could pass as brothers.

 

His cousin started leading Fili out the hall and past all the lingering nobles but turned down towards the mess hall instead of the healing halls. Fili frowned but Dain spoke up in challenge before Fili could make his escape. “Ya’ve grown but are ya able to handle yerself in balb’urs oshlik?”

 

Fili narrowed his eyes at the challenge, “I can handle myself.”

  
Dain grinned. “Prove it.” The rest of the night flew by as Fili found himself in the middle of a drinking contest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live, I swear! This chapter took ages to write - partly because I desperately tried to write it in Llorabell's perspective. That obviously didn't work but it did take about 4 versions of the chapter before I realized that fact. Then Fili went off the first time and told the entire mountain and Balin "screw you - Fili Out." And ran off towards Llorabell because he decided Kili could become king.... XD
> 
> Anyway, Khuzudul:
> 
> nadad - brother  
> amad - mother  
> adad - father  
> balb’urs oshlik - drinking game with, if I remember, a particular specialty drink of the stiff beards... I forgot to note down exactly what balb’urs means (oshlik - skill, art or ability of the water (draft drink/cup))  
> abanizûghel - stone sense
> 
> Thank yo for all your support!


	3. East or West

3: East or West  
  
  
  
Golden flowers danced nestled amongst new, spring green-silver leaves overhead. “Fear out on the mountain…dark clouds…” The quill scratched against parchment. “Death on…” The quill stilled, ink dripped onto the paper at the sudden stop. The small blonde tightened her hand as a tremble surfaced. She scratched out the word death until it was but a blob amongst scrawled words. Then she tested out a new set of words, “Must not waste away….like a flower…time…”   
  
“Llorabell Baggins.” Came an airy voice, carrying over like a light breeze and drawing the writer from her work. An ethereal being, tall and made of light glided across the mossy, dew covered grass. The details of the figure became visible as it grew closer, revealing a silver-blond elf with ageless grace and the weight of centuries upon her shoulders. A smile, softened by her natural glow, stretched across her face causing a different blinding effect. “How does the poem go?”  
  
Llorabell folded her parchment without a glance, “It’s not for peaking at.”  
  
The elf’s smile grew amused, “Oh?”  
  
“It’s private.” The hobbit lass snapped firmly before adding, after a long pause, “Lady.”  
  
“Of course.” The lady tilted her head at the space beside Llorabell. The hobbit stared back before huffing and nodding in consent. The elf settled besides her at the seat molded through centuries of elvish patience and botany. The massive trees roots of Caras Galadhon’s mellyrn trees were all shaped into seats and tables throughout the court yards of the elvish city.   
  
Llorabell looked up at the canopy of silvery green leaves and golden flowers, hanging lights winking like stars they were so high above, and curving stairs, some molded by botany and some created by delicate metals gifted from a time Dwarves and Elves were friends. Platforms could just be made out as slight bulges in the stairs. The larger balconies were hidden amongst the leaves as they rested upon branches. She could hear the whispers of the tree she sat on and under. It was just slightly louder than the rest of the whispers but not loud enough to understand. She hadn’t tried to speak with the trees, not when the lady beside her seemingly had eyes everywhere.   
  
The lady of the forest had powers Llorabell instinctively did not trust. Galadriel, Lady of the Golden Wood, could speak into her very mind. The lady didn’t seem to hear her thoughts but Llorabell couldn’t be certain. The woman’s face was hard to read. She didn’t react to any of the outrageous things Llorabell had thought. She hadn’t even twitch at the dwarfish insults the hobbit had silently thrown at her.  
  
But it meant she could not try to speak to the ancient trees. She could not speak to Beorn of how he knew about the heart, what he knew about the Arkenstone.   
  
Llorabell pulled out the dead stone from a pouch she had come to carry with her everywhere. Her fingers traced the broken center, rubbed against the cracks. She held a broken heart. The hobbit couldn’t help but wonder if there was any hope of mending it. So many stories spoke of mending broken hearts and thawing hearts of stone but this was a literal heart of stone. Once stone is broken, could it be made whole again?  
  
She didn’t think so.   
  
“It is an odd treasure to take.” Galadriel remarked quietly. The elf continued as Llorabell wrapped both hands protectively around it.  “Would you tell me it’s significance?” Her voice grew softer, as if she spoke out loud to herself as Llorabell’s honey brown eyes met molten silver, “Won’t you unburden your heart? Your soul aches from what you’ve seen… Your mind is restless… I could help you if you stopped hiding.”  
  
The hobbit lass dropped her eyes. Pure compassion and concern was etched in the lady’s eyes. She didn’t want to see it. She deserved all the suffering, all the nightmares. Bifur was dead because of her, for Mahal sakes. Gandalf had complained thoroughly about the stubbornness of dwarves rubbing off on her. But there were things that didn’t concern him or the Lady of the Woods.  
  
“You do not sleep. You do not speak of heavy thoughts.” Llorabell glanced back up. Galadriel shook her head sadly. “You will not heal until you do.”  
  
Llorabell clenched her teeth and jutted her jaw out stubbornly. “I’ve healed.”  
  
“No.” The Lady of the Woods turned her gaze fully onto Llorabell. The hobbit struggled to not shrink back at the weight of the gaze. “You have not healed here.” Galadriel touched her own chest, where her heart was. “The only way you might heal from the terrors you keep is to speak with someone, anyone.”  
  
Galadriel paused for a heavy moment before she said. “You will not do that here.”   
  
“I need to go back to the Shire.” Llorabell answered quietly. She had requested to return to Bag End since the first sign of Spring. Gandalf had refused. He wanted to take her back himself and he had wizarding things to deal with.  
  
“Indeed.” Agreed the lady. A wary smile flickered across her face before she grew solemn. “But is what you need in the Shire?”  
  
Llorabell couldn’t stop herself. Her head snapped towards the elf with wide eyes. Her heart pounded in her ears at the evidence. She did read minds. She couldn’t know about Fili.   
  
Galadriel quickly expanded on her question at the sight of clear panic, “You cry out in your sleep, when you sleep. And Gandalf said you hobbits have no true warriors - none who have been through a great battle. If you do not trust any of us to aid you, then you need one of your dwarven companions. Your own people will not be able to help you in the way you need.”  
  
The hobbit lass sucked in a deep breath as she forced herself to calm down. Every time there was evidence of her powers, Lady Galadriel countered it with some logical explanation. She didn’t know why she wasn’t more relieved by that. Llorabell had already told too many people too many secrets.  
  
Once she calmed her racing heart, Llorabell asked, “You would take me to the Iron Hills then?”  
  
Exhaustion flickered to life in the otherworldly figure, “I? No, I must stay here and protect this land. I...have already left my woods once recently and must recover, and the magics protecting my home must recover from my short absence. It is no small matter to protect a woods and its inhabitants.”  
  
The lady’s words struck Llorabell and distracted her at the thought of leaving. She spoke of the woods like she protected it as much as her people, like the trees were as much her people as the elves. “Do...does your wood have a heart?”  
  
Galadriel smiled warmly, “All things have a heart. Any place with people coming together have hearts. Simply look to the energy a group of people create when in one place for long! These woods have been my home for an age and home for so many of my people. There is a heart created from that community.”  
  
Llorabell slumped at her words. The hint of hope she had felt faded. The hobbit understood what Galadriel spoke of but it was not what she had hoped to hear.   
  
The hobbit stifled a yawn as she looked out across the small courtyard to the ancient silvery trees with airy stairs wrapped around their trunks leading up into the depths of silver green foliage. There was something magical about Caras Galadhon, especially with the spring flowers abloom in the branches. Llorabell wished she could enjoy it and feel the peace exuding from the very air.  
  
“One of my march wardens will safely take you to the Iron Hills. Haldir and you will also travel with the Greenwood elves as they return home.”   
  
Galadriel’s voice grew heavy, the faintest heat entered her tone. It pulled Llorabell’s shoulders instinctively up around her ears from the ancient anger. “You need not worry of imprisonment this time. I have named you under my protection by sending Haldir with you. Thranduil already has much to explain, he would not dare imprison you.”  
  
The lady paused for a moment as a soft, flute like bell echoed through the trees. She smiled as she said, “Supper.” Galadriel turned to look directly at the hobbit once more, “Would this suit you, traveling to the Iron Hills?”  
  
Llorabell felt her heart speed up as excitement and terror hit her in turn. Her stomach flipped at the thought of seeing the company again. Sweat perspired around the broken heart wrapped in her hands. She’d be back with them but would they want her there when she was the reason Bifur and the Arkenstone were dead. The land surrounding Erebor was dieing, if it wasn’t already dead from the trauma of losing its heart and the poisoning - if the poisoning was a separate matter. Could she even handle that again - the cries for help she could do nothing for and the silence of the land she had already failed?  
  
Her shoulders lowered from around her ears and her back straightened though her stomach made dreadful somersaults. She had to see what has become of the land. She had to go and see if she could save it, any of it.   
  
And she needed to go to Bofur and Bombur and apologize. She needed to go to Thorin and give him what was left of the Arkenstone. The company deserved an apology.   
  
But...Llorabell looked down at the stone in her hand. But, there might be answers in the Shire. One of the elders might know of what the Arkenstone was exactly and a possible way to heal it. She was sure it was the heart of the mountain but what that specifically meant was beyond her.  
  
Could she go East when the answers to fix one of the many mistakes she had made could be in the West?  
  
Fili was East.  
  
She wanted to go East. She wanted to see them all again. More than she feared seeing them. She wanted that more than going back to the Shire, more than going back to the Baggins family, back the Took clan, or back to Bag End. That wasn’t her home anymore.  
  
And Llorabell didn’t want to find out what would happen if she went back to the Shire. She didn’t have her undnum anymore. And the elves had cut off her wanderer’s bracelet - it had been unsanitary. They hadn’t cared enough to ask and now she was unlucky until she returned to Tookabourgh. Llorabell was bonded to a dwarf. She had told secrets to dwarves.   
  
Llorabell was a disgrace of a hobbit and there had to be consequences for it all. Yet, she also missed the rolling hills of emerald green, the weekly trips to the market, the quiet and peace, the ignorance to the world. The hobbit lass wished she could properly reconnect with her Took family. She wanted to learn more of the wandering ways. What else had she left behind, forgotten, or never learned about her history and abilities?  
  
What was the right choice?  
  
A hand brushed her cheek. Llorabell jerked away from that touch and looked up at Galadriel. Compassion was all she saw directed at her. The burglar touched her cheek and blinked. It was wet. She had been crying.  
  
“Child…” Galadriel paused for a moment before heaving a sigh. She said, “Gandalf wished to take you to the Shire himself but, if you believe that is where you must go, I will have Haldir take you there instead. On the condition that you return with him if he determines that you are not receiving the aid you need.”  
  
“He would stay with me in the Shire?” Llorabell asked.  
  
The lady shook her head, “No, I would have him continue to the Gray Havens and, after some business there is completed, return to the Shire. You would have a few months in the Shire before he’d likely return. I expect you both will return in time for Winter once more.”  
  
“You expect me to return.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Llorabell frowned as she asked, “Then why let me go?”  
  
Galadriel spoke with the air of first hand experience, “We all must find our own way. I am simply offering you the chance to reach paths you would not reach easily alone. If you would open yourself to help and advice then I could guide you and make your path easier.”  
  
Llorabell looked away. She didn’t want to go to the Shire but she did. The hobbit didn’t want to go to the company but she did. Llorabell Baggins needed to do both. In the end, could she meet Thorin, Fili, everyone without trying to heal the Arkenstone?  
  
No.   
  
Llorabell sighed as she reached the same conclusion she had already reached a thousand times before. “I have to go the the Shire.” She looked up at the elf. “I have to. Please.”  
  
The Lady of the Golden Wood nodded sadly, “Very well. Now, let us go to supper.”  
  
Llorabell tucked the folded paper into her tunic as she followed as barefooted as the elf.  
  
Dinner was set on one of the many lower balconies over looking the river. Lord Celeborn sat amongst his honored guests. She found her seat at that long table as she was one of them. There was also Gandalf the gray wizard, Beorn the bear skin-changer, Legolas Prince of the Greenwoods and son of King Thranduil, and a small entourage of elves that had traveled with Legolas.  
  
They were all arguing.   
  
“We must retake the mountain. It is imperative more than ever.” Snapped Gandalf.   
  
Beorn had his arms crossed and proceeded to straighten with a frown as the wizard spoke. “The land is lost.” He rumbled back, “There will be nothing but death to come from that mountain and the land surrounding it. Only orcs and foul creatures could possibly thrive in such an environment.”  
  
“You believe the orc army is capable of poisoning the land?” Asked Lord Celeborn.  
  
Llorabell silently sat at her designated seat, almost missing it entirely as her attention focused solely on the conversation. Orcs could poison the land? Was that the source of the poison she had been searching for?  
  
Beorn grunted back, “Look to Mordor.”  
  
Legolas snipped out a bitting response, “If that were true the Misty Mountains would be a frozen waste land.”  
  
“It’s not?” Asked Beorn even as Galadriel spoke over him, “Orcs did no poison the land of Mordor. That was done by hands more foul and devious than any orc.”  
  
Llorabell asked, unable to control her tongue, “By who?”  
  
Gandalf glanced down at her with a heavy, sorrowful stare, “Melkor and his generals can be blamed.”  
  
“Sauron.” One of Legolas’ companions expanded out.  
  
“Sauron is gone.” Llorabell said, demanded. She leaned forward to look at Gandalf and then Celeborn and Galadriel when she saw the grim look in the wizard’s eyes. The lord and lady of the woods were no less grim. A shiver ran up her spin at the sudden possibility presented to her. She didn’t want to consider the poison in the land was created by such a creature. How could she heal that? “Isn’t he?”  
  
“Of course.” Legolas placated kindly. “We would have been informed if he has returned. He cannot hide from the White Council.”  
  
Llorabell frowned over at the prince before glancing back at Gandalf, “Is he?”  
  
“Miss Baggins-“  
  
“I don’t know anything about this white council.” She snapped at Legolas. “I know what I see and that is a unhappy wizard. A unhappy wizard is not a good sign - not when talking about Sauron being back or not.”  
  
Legolas frowned back at her before turning to look at Gandalf, “Well, what is the truth of the matter?”  
  
“Have you been hiding concerns from us?” Demanded one of the other Greenwood elves. “We have a right to know if the White Council is concerned! We’d need to go prepare for the coming darkness. We’ve lost so many during that damned battle…We would have stay well out of it if we had known there might be another war coming.”  
  
Gandalf grimaced at the elves words but before he could speak up Lord Celeborn snapped out, “You should be well aware that he was here. He was residing within your woods.”  
  
The Greenwood elves rose with outrage on their lips. Lord Celeborn, Gandalf, Beorn and a few other elves rose to meet the angered elves. After a few minutes of venting and arguing Lady Galadriel set her utensils down and snapped out. “Enough.” The males paused, most embarrassed by their actions. The lady continued, “He hide himself at Dol Guldur. Fashioned himself as a necromancy and was the main reason such a large army of orc were gathered. He desired the mountain. He likely wanted the dragon more. But we of the White Council have gone to Dol Guldur and vanquished him. He has been exiled to the East and has been weakened. Saruman took chase and has sent word of his weakened state.”  
  
Gandalf nodded along with Galadriel’s words. “Exactly,” He stated, “Now is the time to take back the ground he has gained. We must retake the mountain. And to keep the mountain we need dwarves. I will be traveling to the Iron Hills to speak with Thorin and Dain.” He turned to look at Legolas, “I need you to speak reason with your father-“  
  
“He will never agree to a alliance with dwarves.” Legolas said. “We have had to deal with slight after slight from those dwarves. No more. My father decreed that we would never accept anymore.”  
  
“They haven’t given you any slights you haven’t returned.” Countered Llorabell, furious on behalf of her dwarrow.   
  
Legolas stared at her with hard eye, “You no nothing of what they have done. Look at everything you’ve been through because of them!” He spat out his last words, “That is just a taste of their greedy ways.”  
  
“They are not the dwarves that insulted your father!” Llorabell spat right back at him. “They are different dwarves, one who were but babes during the conflict and most weren’t even alive!”  
  
“The seed doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Sneered out another Greenwood elf.  
  
“She is correct, though.” Gandalf spoke up, “They are not the dwarves you had conflict with and no single person is the same. You cannot blame the children for the crimes of their parents or grandparents or ancestors - as it might be. We must look at the larger picture. Erebor is a key position into the West and Sauron’s forces possess it. We must take it ba-.”  
  
Lord Celeborn smacked his knife down into the wooden table with a loud bang, “Will you stop being so one sighted Mithrandir.”  
  
The entire balcony filled with dinners stilled and fell silent. Eye round and wary watched their Lord as the ancient elf stared down the gray wizard. Galadriel rested a hand on her husband’s arm. “We shall wait for Saruman to continue this discussion. I have also sent for Elrond. A meeting of the White Council must determine our next moves. We will not act without every angle properly discussed and reviewed. And the most important one is Sauron’s state.”  
  
The balcony slowly returned to the quiet conversations and ethereal background music by the time Galadriel spoke once more. “Also, Gandalf, Llorabell will be leaving on the morrow.”   
  
“Wha-“  
  
“Haldir will be taking her safely on her way.” She turned to Llorabell, “Have you decided where?”  
  
Llorabell looked up from her fish and vegetables. “The Shire.” She had to find answers. Erebor needed it’s heart back if Gandalf and the elves were going to try to reclaim it and force the dwarves to guard it. And Gandalf was right, she was sure, Erebor needed to be reclaimed. But she was also sure it would be worthless to try to reclaim a dead and dying land. It would only cause more suffering if she didn’t find a way to fix the heart.  
  
“Bilbo you reall-“  
  
“Gandalf, “ Interrupted Galadriel (Llorabell had to hide her smile at the interruption. She had never seen so many people treat the wizard so casually.) “She has decided on the Shire. It is her decision what she does or does not do.”  
  
The lady of the woods stared down Gandalf. Gandalf dropped his gaze after a moment and nodded though he didn’t look happy. Galadriel added, “Of course, Haldir will be returning her if he deems the healing she requires is not possible within the Shire. We can expect them back just before Winter.”  
  
Llorabell frowned as Gandalf relaxed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo. I updated! And it's Llor. O_O
> 
> Exciting news, I am in the process of moving my writing to a platform that will make things easier. It'll allow me to store all my research, notes, and drafts all together in one digestible filing system. I'm hoping once I've completed the move I'll be able to start publishing a monthly chapter for this series and twice monthly for the other story - Lost and Found.
> 
> The below elvish notes I'll updates at some point. It's late so I'm being lazy.
> 
> Thank you all for your support and comment and love(kudos). It's really inspiring.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Novus Ars
> 
> Hobbitish  
> undnum - heart guiding charms
> 
> Caras Galadhon = heart of Lothorien, the elvish city. - Correct me if I'm wrong and it's actually just a another name of the entire wood
> 
> mellyrn - special type of trees that at this time only really grow in Lothorien and to the west in the valorn or whatever the elvish "after life" is called.


	4. NOT a Chapter

This is not a chapter. It's also **not** a sad notice of abandonment either.

I just realized how long it's been since I've updated this or Lost and Found. I thought you all deserved an update on things. The very short of it is there will be new chapters by May, at latest. If you want an explanation, you can continue reading. It's nothing life threatening or sad or depressing, just me doing something stupid and not realizing it until this past new year when I realized how long it has been.

\---

Some of you may recall my claim that I was going to write more and had moved to a new tool to make things easier. Well, I am writing more and I did move to a new tool. Sadly what I considered a weird writers block - where I knew the plot, I knew the characters and their motivations but I couldn't write - wasn't writers block. It was my inability to utilize the new tool. It ruined my flow and process.

Coupled with that issue (and not realizing that was the issue), I also have reached the point where I need to pull notes together, create character sheets, etc for this story. I had a scattering of notes but nothing on each character. It's not productive writing a character and realizing you couldn't remember what accent emphasis you had given them, or if they had a certain craft, etc.

I tried to make those notes in the new tool and the cycle began where I'd get no where and get frustrated at my writing. 

Eventually I gave up. I decided I needed to change things up and switch stories entirely. I opened a chasm I, perhaps, should never allowed. I re-awoke my Harry Potter Fandom. (It's never gone away, I just forcefully refused to write the epics that came to mind and they have grown and evolved and solidified in the back of my mind for _years_.)

I unleashed a monster. 

It consumed me. Then, after writting approximately 50k, and not having reached half the story, I decided to place the story in said "new" tool because _why didn't I have it in there in the first place, it would be so much easier and better and it'll be **great**_ (note the sarcastic tone).

And so the cycle returned and I did what I had eventually done before. I decided I had hit a major road block in this story, because I had conveniently decided to move things when "part one" had been completed. 

I started another Harry Potter story. Part one (all +100k of it) has been completed recently. At that point, I looked up and realized how terrible I've been to you all. I haven't even responded to comments for most of the year. I came to the very delayed realization of what truly happened and how I ended up where I am.

So, that's what happened. 

Going forward, I refuse to leave these stories incomplete. I will complete them. But I need to create my notes and transfer everything out of that failure of a tool. That will take time and I also want to finish the Harry Potter story I am writing right now.

My goal is to have a chapter out by the end of May. At that time I may also begin publishing these Harry Potter stories. Whether or not I complete this goal, you all will receive some form of update. Even if it's a general "the chapter is half way done" type of notice.

I am truly sorry for this epic fail. This is one big 'my bad'.

Cheers,  
NovusArs


End file.
